


My Brother

by Name_Pending



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Affection, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, jon snow needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name_Pending/pseuds/Name_Pending
Summary: Jon Snow has been through a lot. Sam is the only one to really notice.





	My Brother

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during Season 4 Episode 1 - Two Swords

Jon stomped out of the hall at Castle Black and marched straight to his quarters, avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed. He didn’t need to look up to know that several of his brothers were glaring at him. Everyone had heard the story about him and the wildlings; they knew that he’d killed Qhorin Halfhand, they knew that he’d fought alongside the enemy, and soon they would all know that he’d broken his vows with Ygritte. He didn’t want to see the contempt in their eyes right now, so soon after he’d seen it burn so fiercely in those of Ser Alliser and Janos Slynt. 

He shut the door to his chamber with more force than was needed and collapsed angrily onto the hard bed. Not for the first time since his return, he desperately wished that Ghost was still with him. He missed the white wolf badly and would have given just about anything to be able to bury his face in Ghost’s familiar, warm fur. It was just typical that the wolf was gone now, when he needed comfort more than he ever had before.

That morning, before he had come before the leaders, Samwell Tarly had gently explained to him what had happened at the wedding of Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey. He’d caught snippets before but this was the first time he had properly heard about what was being called the Red Wedding.

It was a strange thing, to think that Robb was gone. Robb was not the first member of his family that he’d lost, but in a way the loss of his half-brother pained him more than the loss of his father. He’d always known that, save for sickness or battle, he would live to see his father die, but he had never truly expected to see Robb die. He had prepared to see Robb rule Winterfell, to feel some semblance of envy as he watched Robb marry and welcome his children, but he had never prepared himself for Robb’s death. 

It hurt badly, somewhere deep in his chest. The thought of Robb at his uncle’s wedding, surrounded by his bannermen and his mother’s family, betrayed and murdered, was a near unbearable one. It made ice course through his veins to numb his pain and it made fire burn through his very soul, thirsting for vengeance and justice.

He had heard that Robb was married to some woman from the east. Had he watched her die? Had he watched his mother die? Jon had never been close to Lady Catelyn, but the thought of her being murdered at the Twins despite the guest right angered him nonetheless. Had she watched Robb die? She had always adored her eldest son; Jon hoped she hadn’t seen him die. He hoped they’d both died quickly.

Jon sat up on the bed, put his head in his hands. He had almost run away from the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s war against the Lannisters. If he had done, he wondered, would he have been there? Would he have been another victim of Walder Frey’s betrayal? 

He’d never have known Ygritte if he had gone south to Robb. He wondered if he would have felt less pain if he’d been at the damned Red Wedding, instead of sitting here praying that Robb had died quickly and constantly thinking about the wildling girl he’d loved and left. 

He was thinking about his brother Bran as well. He knew now that Bran was alive, out there somewhere beyond the Wall. Sam had told him that much already and he feared greatly for the safety of his younger brother. He wanted to go back out there to find Bran and bring him home safely, and he wanted to know why Bran refused to come with Sam to Castle Black. The thought of sweet, crippled Bran out there with the oncoming wildling army and worse … 

He was lost in such thoughts when he heard the hesitant knock on his door. He sighed and very nearly told whoever it was to go away, but he knew that would not go over well with the likes of Ser Alliser and he didn’t have the energy to fight right now. Soon enough there would be nothing but fighting. 

Jon opened the door and was only mildly surprised to see Sam standing there, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. 

“I came to tell you I’m glad you’re still here” he said, his tone forcibly light. “Maester Aemon told me they decided not to execute you. I told you it’d be alright.”

Jon forced a smile and stood aside to let Sam in, shutting the door behind him. “Aye, you did.”

It wasn’t alright, but he knew what Sam meant. He was still alive. 

The two sat down on the bed, the wood creaking a bit under Sam’s weight. They faced one another, neither sure exactly what to say. 

“Did you need anything, Sam?” Jon asked after a moment of awkward silence had gone by. 

“No. I just … I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

Jon smiled at his friend’s kindness. “I’m alright. They’re not taking my head off and it’s warmer here than it was beyond the wall.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Jon didn’t reply. He knew what Sam meant. Now that his confrontation with Ser Alliser and the others was over, Jon had time to think about all that had happened to him. He was touched that Sam took the time to come and check on him, but he really didn’t know what to say.

“Jon?” Sam pressed. “It must be hard for you. He was your brother and...”

“And what?” Jon snapped. “He was my brother and he was a king and now he’s dead! The Freys betrayed him and they killed his men and Roose Bolton drove a dagger into his heart!”

Sam looked almost startled but he schooled his features into a mask of sympathy. He knew that it wasn’t him that Jon was truly mad at.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He stared at Jon until his friend met his eyes. “I really am sorry, Jon.”

Jon looked away, down at his lap like he was trying to stop Sam from seeing his pain. But Sam knew his friend well enough to see it anyway. Hesitantly, he moved his hand over to rest on Jon’s shoulder. 

Jon looked up then, briefly, turning away quickly so as to not let Sam see that he was holding back tears with only limited success. The weight of the news of the Red Wedding, Bran, all that he had been through with the wildlings, and the hole Ygritte left in his life were building up, and the pressure was becoming unbearable. Sam’s sympathy was an added spike of pressure he wasn’t sure he could withstand. 

Sam pulled his hand away in shock. Despite all that he knew Jon had been through, he had never seen his dearest friend break down, and the thought of Jon crying in front of him made him uncomfortable. Still, he could read his friend well enough to tell that Jon was nearing his breaking point and desperately needed somebody to care for him, even if just for a few minutes. 

Jon was strong all the time. He had protected Sam since they had first met and he had stood up countless times to the commanders. Jon had listened as Sam talked about his fears and worries, and had even shared with Sam some of his own vulnerabilities. Sam would never forget the conversation the two had had about Jon’s fear of fathering a bastard, and he had been the first at the Wall to learn about Ygritte.

Now, Sam watched as Jon pressed his lips together and clenched his eyes shut; he could see Jon boarding up his emotions and steeling himself against any who would scrutinise him. It was something he’d learned how to do growing up. But it was not necessary with Sam - he would never betray Jon’s confidence.

Sam glanced at the door to be sure it was bolted. The bolts were weakened by age and would not withstand much, but it would do for now. Nobody was likely to come looking for them for a while anyway.

He reached his hand out towards Jon once again, resting it this time on his friend’s knee. 

“It’s alright, Jon.”

Jon looked up at him, eyes still glazed and angry. His voice was strained and watery. “It’s not alright, Sam.” 

“No, you’re right. It’s not.” Sam squeezed Jon’s knee, maintaining eye contact. “But you will be.”

The genuine friendship and the empathy in Sam’s eyes was too much; it added too much onto the crushing weight of everything he had already learned and felt since his disgraced return to the Wall. Sam’s kindness and clear offer of support broke something in Jon and, for the first time in many years, he felt the tears spilling over and allowed them to. 

Even before he’d left Winterfell he had become ashamed of any tears he let fall; he was no child any longer. Since he’d been at the Wall, the few tears he’d shed had been hastily brushed away in shame or blinked away before they could fall. Now, though, he found himself unable to blink them away and unwilling to brush them off. Still, he didn’t really want Sam to see them so openly.

Jon lowered his face, shutting his eyes to hide the pain from Sam as best he could right now. He flinched away from Sam, but his friend was two steps ahead of him for once, and Sam reached out before Jon could move any further way. He pulled Jon’s trembling form into his arms and held him firmly there. Jon was tense in his hold.

“You’re alright, Jon” Sam murmured. “You’re home now.”

Jon gasped and fell into Sam, his head resting on his friend’s shoulder. He bit his lip to stop himself from sobbing and clenched his eyes shut, but he wrapped his arms tightly around Sam. They didn’t reach all the way around his friend’s girth but it felt good nonetheless to hold onto somebody. Just for once it felt good to have somebody’s arms around him, someone who knew him and cared for him, someone that he wasn’t lying to. 

He’d felt warm and loved in Ygritte’s arms, yes, but he didn’t feel safe and free with her. He’d been too consumed with the knowledge of his betrayal, with his own guilt and warring desires. Ygritte had loved him but she had wanted more from him than he was able to give. 

It was different with Sam. There was nothing hidden or secret, no expectations, no conflict. There was nothing sexual about their embrace despite how intimate it felt, just an understanding and familial affection. He felt safe and accepted in Sam’s arms, knowing his friend would not judge him for his weakness. Sam would never throw this back in his face or ridicule him. 

Sam’s arms tightened around him, and Jon felt his friend begin to rock him slightly back and forth, a soothing motion that he thought ought to have shamed him but instead only calmed him. Sam had no intention of treating him like a child; he only wanted to show Jon that he cared. 

Jon felt his tears come harder and faster than they had in a long while. He clutched at Sam and after a while no longer cared enough to stop himself from weeping. He was a quiet crier, but the tears seemed relentless. He gasped and sobbed in his friend’s arms, feeling his tears wet Sam’s leather where his shoulder met his neck and not caring a bit. Sam’s arms were warm around him, rocking him gently, and he only wanted them to hold him tighter. 

It was so nice to feel, after so long, tender care from somebody who actually knew him and cared about him. It had been so long since he had felt this safe, this accepted. He’d forgotten what it was like to be taken care of. 

Sam thought that at this point, with his friend sobbing into his neck and shaking in his arms, he was probably supposed to shush Jon and assure him that everything was going to be alright, but he did not. It might not be proper for a grown man, a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, to cry like this, but Jon needed it. He needed to let go of his control and let himself be taken care of for once. It was Sam’s turn to protect him now, even if all he could protect Jon from were the demons of his own mind. 

He didn’t hush him or placate him with false promises that everything was going to be okay. He simply held his friend, rocked him gently, offered his solid support the only way he knew how. 

Jon’s breath eventually hitched as the sobs died down and he lay against Sam, gasping as he tried to regain control. His face was red and streaked with tears, his eyes were swollen and his lip still quivered uncontrollably. Now that he’d broken down he felt lighter somehow, but with this new lightness came the prickling feeling of shame. 

Sam must have felt him tense up again because he squeezed Jon tightly. “You’re alright, Jon.”  
Jon took a deep breath and pulled back, somewhat reluctantly, until he was facing his friend with only minimal contact between them. “I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have...”

“Don’t. It’s okay, Jon. Don’t do that to yourself.” He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and nudged Jon to look up at him, knowing that he had to reassure his friend before he became angry with himself. “You need to mourn your brother. There’s … there’s no shame in being upset by what they did to him.”

Jon looked down, nodding a little. He knew that. It wasn’t just Robb, though. It was Bran and Ygritte and his father; it was all the wildlings and all the living. But he didn’t feel like burdening Sam with all his fears and regrets any more than he already had. So he just nodded. 

“Jon?”

He looked up at Sam. 

“I’m sorry about your family and about ... um…”

“Ygritte” he whispered.

“About Ygritte” Sam agreed. “It wasn’t fair, what happened to them. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. You still have all the brothers here.”

Jon nodded, electing not to mention that many of their brothers - including some he had cared for - had not returned from their journey beyond the Wall. 

“And you’ve got me” Sam said, smiling so earnestly that it nearly brought a smile to Jon’s face as well. 

“Thank you, Sam” he whispered, unable to make eye contact but smiling reassuringly at his friend. “Really.”

Sam returned the smile and bumped his shoulder against Jon’s in a friendly manner. Jon huffed out a laugh, relishing the way the atmosphere was returning to normal. His little breakdown was over and nothing had changed between him and Sam - Sam still looked at him like the brave brother he had always believed Jon to be. 

Another silence fell over the room, but this time it was easy. The two men fell back into their friendly companionship as easily as if they had been doing it all their lives. 

They talked of everything and nothing until their various duties called them out of Jon’s quarters. Sam went to tend to Maester Aemon and to speak with Gilly, while Jon went to see the brothers training in the yard. 

As he watched them fighting - or attempting to fight in most cases - Jon felt himself smile. The pain caused by Robb’s death and Bran’s journey beyond the Wall was still there, rising and falling in depth depending on how long he let himself think on the Red Wedding or the threats Bran would face so far north. The memory of his last words to Ygritte haunted him and he knew that they would for a very long time.

Yet he felt lighter somehow, as if just being able to break down and let someone else be the strong one for a few minutes had given him new strength. He was grateful for Sam and his kindness. Sam was the only person here at Castle Black that he would ever allow himself to show such weakness to. 

He had lost Robb, and maybe he had lost Bran too; he didn’t even know about Rickon. But he had not lost all his brothers. 

He still had Sam.


End file.
